


Unfortunate Luck

by TheAceApples



Series: Fortune Favors [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Season/Series 13, Temple of Procreation, i named this ship Lucker because i'm hilarious and regret nothing, note: i wrote this purely out of thirst which was a fun new experience lemme tell you, of the as non-dubious as i could possibly make it variety, sex-pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-13
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-10-03 18:41:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10254788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAceApples/pseuds/TheAceApples
Summary: Somebody accidentally activates the Temple of Procreation.Tucker and Locus reap the benefits.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from, really. Generally speaking, I don't actually ship this.
> 
> And yet, here I am, and here this shit is.
> 
> Feel free to point out any typos or mistakes if you spot 'em, I've gone blind to them at this point.
> 
> Also, thank you and shoutout to Aryashi and @deadpoolsdickwarmer on Tumblr for being my betas. Y'all are great for sifting through this mess. : )

There were a lot of things Tucker expected to happen if he was ever slammed up against a wall by fucking _Locus._ Most of those scenarios ended in his eventual death, a couple involved actual dismemberment, and every single one included at least one form of maiming. Surprisingly enough, none of them entailed actually, you know, _fucking Locus._

And yet there they were, almost certainly headed in that direction.

He wasn’t complaining exactly—because genocidal maniacs had absolutely _no business_ being that hot and he’d never been so turned on in his life—but it was weird. _Really_ weird, okay?

One second, he’d been exploring the latest temple after Hargrove _finally_ fucked off for good, spotted a suspicious-looking shimmer, and actually got the drop on the Freelancer knock-off; the next second, the floor beneath his feet gave a heart-stopping shudder and Tucker was hit by a downright _painful_ wave of arousal; and the second after _that_ , both of their helmets were carelessly tossed aside, their weapons completely forgotten, and Tucker was getting all hot and heavy with a guy who'd tried to kill him and his friends, like, three weeks ago.

His dick certainly didn't care if it was weird and suspicious as fuck, though, and his dick seemed to be in charge at the moment, so he just kinda went with it. There were worse things than sloppy make-outs with a shockingly pretty mercenary, as far as Tucker was concerned.

Locus was… a surprisingly good kisser, as it turned out. Commanding, liberal use of his teeth, and adventurous with his tongue, but, like, in a good way. In a _very_ good way. Plus, the way he had Tucker pinned against the cool, stone wall made the whole thing a full-body experience. _God_ , he had great hands, too—big and strong and efficiently stripping them both of their outer armor, piece by frustrating piece.

Tucker broke away after a minute, panting so hard he was nearly hyperventilating, to rip off his gauntlets and then his gloves. Free to actually enjoy the sensation, he wound his fingers through the other man's hair, gave it a harsh tug, and sank his teeth into a jawline that could cut glass, god _damn_.

Far from protesting the rough treatment, Locus let out a groan that Tucker could feel all the way down in his fucking _toes_. He gripped Tucker’s hips painfully hard and Tucker’s dick throbbed in time with the rapidly-forming bruises because, _fuck_ , that was hot. Who knew Locus was so _hot?_ Seriously, that was vital fucking information right there and somebody had deliberately kept it from him, what the hell?

“What are you muttering about?” Locus growled in his ear, hooking one of Tucker’s legs on his hip so he didn't have to bend down as much to begin removing the aqua leg plating. This had the delightful added effect of grinding their dicks together and Tucker threw his head back at the feeling, choking on his answer. Evidently pleased with that reaction, Locus deliberately rolled his hips and Tucker—admittedly seeing goddamn stars—yanked on his distinctly non-regulation hair sharply.

Locus bit his ear in retaliation. “Stop squirming,” he ordered, releasing the catch on Tucker’s right greave and tugging his boot off when the last bit of armor clattered to the floor. Tucker laughed breathlessly.

 _“Dude,”_ he gasped, “I've never, _mmm,_ wanted to fuck this badly in my _life_ and nobody thought to mentioned that you're hotter than the goddamn _sun_. If you wanted someone who was just gonna roll over for you—”

Because he was an _asshole_ , Locus cut him off by _picking him up off the floor_ , forcing Tucker to wrap his legs around his waist in order to stay balanced. _“Fuck,”_ he gritted out as Locus apparently abandoned his quest for nakedness in favor of just straight-up grinding.

Again, Tucker was _not_ complaining.

Even through their temperature-regulated undersuits, he felt like he was in a goddamn sauna, and Locus was bleeding off heat like the blacktop in the middle of July. Not the mention the firmness of Locus’ _everything_ —like, Tucker was in pretty good shape, but now that he was actually paying attention, Locus was built like a brickhouse _made out of brickhouses._

Any other time, Tucker might spare a few seconds to be envious, but at that moment he was too busy moaning not unlike a porn-star because the drag of Locus’ cock against his had Tucker seeing the face of _God_.

And he wasn't the only one, either.

Tucker had never really given much thought to Locus’ voice (beyond “scary as shit”) but the little grunts and groans he was making right against Tucker’s ear were fucking _sexy_.

Done with being a passive participant, Tucker tried to think past _fuck yes more so good_ and finish what Locus had started. He fumbled with the various armor parts on his other leg, getting sidetracked a couple times by trying to suck a mark high on Locus’ throat before migrating back up to his mouth. Eventually, he got it all off and interrupted the mercenary’s thorough investigation of the sensitive flesh behind his ear to frantically mutter, “Put me down, put me down…”

Locus reluctantly let him go and Tucker’s bare feet hit the cool stone of the temple floor. They both got distracted kissing again—because at half a head taller, Locus’ body was one big, long, _inviting_ line of heat pressed up against him—but Tucker persisted until their positions were reversed.

Before deciding to just fuck him with their undersuits still on, Locus had managed to divest them both of all armor above the thighs, so Tucker dropped to his knees.

He was pretty sure he heard Locus swallow his own fucking tongue when he mouthed at the guy’s cock. There wasn't a whole lot Tucker could do through the suit, and a lot of his focus was on removing the leg armor through touch alone, but _hot_ and _wet_ seemed to be nearly enough on their own, so he kinda just took the opportunity to explore.

Tucker didn't especially like the taste of precome (or come, for that matter) but there was a certain amount of pleasure in knowing that he was causing a highly dangerous mercenary to lose his damn mind above him. One of Locus’ hands drifted down to cup the back of his head and he kept making these strangled, bitten-off little noises. Unable to help himself when the thought occurred to him, Tucker pulled away just enough to grin up at the merc. “Dude,” he said, breathing heavily. “Do you even know my _name?”_

 _“Lavernius Tucker,”_ Locus growled, sending a shiver down his spine, “if you do not put your mouth _back_ on—”

Smirking, Tucker obliged before he could finish, sucking hard through the textured fabric. He felt the last of the armor give way under his fumbling and, because he was a little shit, hummed against Locus’ dick before backing off again. Forestalling any future outrage, Tucker tapped the other man's thigh a couple times before he did so, bringing Locus’ attention to the lack of titanium shell.

“Finally,” he heard Locus mutter as he pulled off his boots and they both reached back to hit the release on their respective bodysuits. Tucker stood up to shuck off the quickly-unraveling exoskeleton and was nearly tackled back to the ground the second he was free. He'd’ve been pissed at the rough treatment, if the stupid-sexy jackass pinning him to the floor hadn't been surprisingly careful about it.

Besides, if he thought Locus was hot before, dude was a fucking furnace without anything separating them. His mouth alone felt like it was nearly on fire when it latched onto his shoulder.

Tucker absently stroked Locus’ hair and considered their next move. They were _definitely_ having sex, that shit was non-negotiable at that point, but he didn't know where Locus had thrown had his Tactical/Hard Case. Not to mention, it didn't have any condoms in it anyway, just lube, so their options were pretty limited.

Of course, rubbing off against each other sounded _great_ to him, but, like, he wasn't the only one who got a vote here.

“Dude,” he said, tapping the skin just above Locus’ ass, because it was a pretty great ass in general and his hand had automatically rested their in the first place. “Pause for a sec.”

Locus made an aggrieved noise against his collarbone but dutifully pulled away. Propping himself up on a forearm, he met Tucker’s gaze and said _“What”_ with so little inflection yet so much emphasis that it boggled his mind. He wasn't even sure it counted as a question like that.

“Um,” Tucker said after a few seconds of staring blankly into the prettiest set of grey-green eyes he'd ever seen and thinking _What the actual fuck_ _..._ “Uh, right, yeah. So, uh, got any, like, hard limits or triggers or anything else I should know about?”

Locus squinted at him, lips turning down at the corners. “What,” he repeated, with far less impatience than the first time, while Tucker wrestled with the urge to poke his bulldog mouth.

Once it was under control, he shrugged. “You know, shit that fucks you up or freaks you out. Or just turns you off in general.”

“No,” Locus said at length, tilting his head to the side as he examined Tucker critically.

Tucker waited a few seconds to see if he had anything else to add. With nothing else forthcoming, he shrugged again, said “Cool,” and dragged Locus back down so he could suck on his tongue.

Things progressed quickly from there. Tucker brought his legs back up around Locus’ waist and slid a hand down his back to palm that fine ass, urging his hips into a rhythm that soon had them both gasping and panting.

Locus, meanwhile, went back to being a multi-tasking motherfucker and experimentally pressed the flat of his tongue against one of Tucker’s nipples. When Tucker whined and arched his back helplessly, the fucker flashed a dangerous grin up at him before sealing his mouth over it and sucking on the highly-sensitive flesh with roughly 64,000 pounds per square inch of pressure.

Tucker may or may not have squealed a little bit, and definitely almost bit through his bottom lip trying to keep from saying anything embarrassing. He failed only seconds later when the merc did some kind of swirly thing with his tongue that had Tucker throwing his head back and moaning _“Locus!”_ loud enough to make a porn director adjust himself.

The man in question froze.

Tucker’s gasping breaths sounded shockingly loud in the following silence. After a few seconds, he picked his head back up to see what was wrong. Locus, his pretty eyes wide and startled, looked like he was in the middle of having some kind of crisis.

“Wha’s wrong?” Tucker managed to slur out, finding it difficult to focus through the lingering haze of _fuck me_. Then, a little more alert, “Did I do something wrong? You wanna stop?”

The answer to that question seemed to be an emphatic _“no”_ as a half-second later, Locus had both hands cupping Tucker’s face and was kissing him with, like, _excessive_ force. If it was anyone else on the face of Chorus, Tucker would've called it “desperation” but, well. It _was_ Locus, after all.

He pulled away a few moments later, trailing a series of forceful, biting kisses up to Tucker’s ear. “Sam, Sam, call me Sam,” he rasped urgently, sounding all kinds of _wrecked_.

Tucker felt his eyes widen, but no way in hell was he stopping to analyze that shit. Instead, he just nodded frantically and swallowed. “Yeah, Sam, no problem,” he breathed, winding his fingers through that hair again and trying to pull Locus back for more of those toe-curling kisses.

Locus—Sam? Ugh, whatever, _Locus—_ resisted, mouthing his way down Tucker’s chest until his breath fanned out over Tucker’s dick.

With effort, Tucker sat up on his arms to watch with great interest. He caught the calculating expression on Locus’ face as he licked a hot stripe right up the underside of his cock, but had to drop back down to the floor when Locus glanced up and met Tucker’s eyes just as he swirled his tongue around the head.

 _“Fuck,_ Sam!” Tucker yelled, his hands tightening reflexively in the other man's hair. No way was he insane enough to try and dictate his movements, but he needed to hold on to _something_.

Locus paused for a second, obviously waiting to see what he would do, so Tucker forced himself to loosen his grip and carded his fingers through the soft strands. Because, yeah, he wasn't a fucking jackass to people who gave him head. Of course, that sentiment was blown ( _heh_ ) right out of the water when Locus reached up, easy as you please, and squeezed Tucker’s hands until the pull had to be _painful_ on his scalp. Tucker gave it a much gentler tug to signify he got the message, and then nearly swallowed his tongue a second later.

Without any further ado, Locus had wrapped his lips around the head of Tucker’s cock and gone down as far as he could without choking. It was surprisingly far, in Tucker’s humble opinion, but Locus made a noise of frustration that had Tucker’s eyes rolling back into his skull and pulled off again. Presumably to glare.

“How do you—” he began before cutting himself with an audible scowl. Tucker gave a drunk-sounding laugh and petted his stupidly-pretty hair, resisting the urge to coo. Baby’s first blow-job, he was feeling pretty honored.

“Relax your throat as you go down, then suck when you go up,” he advised, staring glassily up at the ceiling. “And, like, use your hands on whatever doesn't fit, ya know?”

Locus huffed, sounding suspiciously like he was pouting, but followed Tucker’s advice and tried again.

Tucker didn't know why he was _surprised_ to learn that Locus was just as ruthless and single-minded about sucking him off as he was about trying to kill them. He really didn't, because, like, in what universe would he be any less intense about giving pleasure as he was about inflicting pain?

To that end, Locus seemed to take his initial failure—to deep-throat Tucker right off the bat, holy _fuck_ , that was hot—as some kind of personal challenge. Every time Locus bobbed his head, he managed to go down a little bit further, until Tucker could feel the flutter of his throat around the head of his cock. He took Tucker’s other advice, too, using the copious amounts of drool and precome to ease the way as he stroked what didn't fit in his scorching hot mouth.

And he kept making noises as well, humming at each of Tucker’s rambling, gasping compliments and outright moaning every time Tucker forgot himself and yanked at his hair. At one point, he did something with his tongue that clearly made Tucker lose his damn _mind_ because he actually held Locus’ head down and snapped his hips up with a garbled shout of _“Fuck me!”_

The fact that Locus actually let him get away with it sealed the fucking deal and it was barely a minute later that Tucker was choking out a desperate chant of, “Gonna come, gonna come, gonna come…”

Locus pulled off entirely and stroked him hard and fast until Tucker came with a long, low moan of _that_ name. It still didn't feel like it meant _Locus_ to him, but damn if it didn't feel good in his mouth as Tucker shot his load all over Locus’ hand and his own stomach.

Loose-limbed and stupid with endorphins, it took Tucker a minute to realize that his breathing wasn’t the only sound to be heard. When he finally pried his eyes back open, he was met with the sight of miles and miles of smooth brown skin and—

Tucker groaned, an echo of his earlier arousal pulsing through his body.

Still kneeling between Tucker’s legs, Locus had sat back on his heels and begun jerking himself off using Tucker’s _come_ as additional lube. His face was flushed and his hair almost completely pulled out of its original ponytail, thanks to Tucker’s fixation with it, and he looked so fucking beautiful that Tucker’s mind went totally blank for a second.

Then he let out a choked off sound of pleasure and it quickly rebooted

“Dude, dude, c’mere,” Tucker urged, beckoning weakly.

Locus, bless his weirdo little heart, had apparently been waiting for some kind of invitation or something and threw himself back on top of Tucker. He shoved his face into the crook of Tucker’s neck and groaned when Tucker twined their fingers together around his dick.

Much to Tucker’s delight, the closer Locus got to his own orgasm, the less control he seemed to have over his mouth. Not only did he work his way up to near-constant grunting and groaning right next to Tucker’s ear—which was a treat in itself, with a voice like his—but when Tucker thumbed just under the head of his cock, he was rewarded by a shocked, almost-reverent sigh of _“Lavernius…”_

In general, Tucker liked his first name, but he wasn’t used to hearing it all that often. After being in the military for, like, twelve years, he answered more naturally to just “Tucker.” Hell, the last time he even remembered actually being _called_ Lavernius was back in the canyon—Crash Site Bravo, not Blood Gulch—during one of his many arguments with Wash.

Much like how “Sam” felt good in _his_ mouth, though, “Lavernius” sounded downright _sexy_ in Locus’. So, really, what was a guy to do?

“C’mon, Sam,” Tucker whispered, dragging his lips across Locus’ shoulder, up his neck, nipping at the shell of his ear. “That's it, right there, come on…”

He kept up a steady stream of encouragement, which was mostly soothing nonsense, in between placing little butterfly kisses up and down Locus’ cheek and neck.

It didn't didn't take much after that for Locus’ breath to hitch tellingly. When Tucker heard it, he carefully urged the merc to roll over so he was straddling Locus’ thighs. Tightening his grip so that Locus bucked his hips, Tucker leaned down just in time to swallow the sound he made as he came.

It was less of a kiss and more a wet slide of mouths and the stinging catch of uncoordinated teeth while Tucker slowly stroked Locus through his orgasm. By the time Locus batted his hands away, probably shocky and hypersensitive, they were mostly just breathing into each other’s mouths, foreheads pressed together.

The brain-melting urgency from before was gone, Tucker noted absently, waiting patiently for Locus to open his eyes and enjoying the satisfied ease on his face in the meantime. He still had a bulldog mouth, which was still fucking hilarious, and when Locus finally _did_ open his eyes, Tucker hadn't quite managed to quell the resulting grin.

“‘Sup,” he said mildly, wondering what Locus would do now that the temple’s effects had presumably worn off. What he _did_ was make that little squinty face from earlier, when Tucker had asked about limits, then grimace down at the space between them.

“This is disgusting,” Locus decided a moment later. Tucker laughed so hard that he didn't even protest being manhandled to the side and just watched Locus redress with sleepy interest.

Once everything but his helmet was back in place, Locus cast a sideways glance at Tucker where he stretched languidly. “You're not moving.”

“Dude, you don't get to sound all judgey when you're only here in the first place because you're a goddamn stalker,” Tucker replied easily, grinning as he crossed his arms behind his head. “Besides, Wash’s been pretty broken up ever since Epsilon, so I figure giving him an excuse to yell at me will cheer him up.”

Locus frowned.

Opened his mouth like he was about to ask, then snapped it shut again and turned his head sharply to the side. Faster than Tucker’s post-sex brain could really follow, he fixed his helmet in place and disappeared into nothingness.

Tucker assumed that meant someone was coming, and got comfortable where he was lying. He'd nearly drifted off to sleep when the half-frustrated, half-scandalized screech of _“Captain Tucker!”_ dragged him back out of it.

He gave Wash a tired smile. “Lemme guess,” he drawled, scratching his stomach, “Caboose touched something he shouldn't have and then blamed me?”

“Th—that—it wasn't—” Wash sputtered, voice cracking with disbelief and embarrassment. “Santa said it wasn't even that _strong_. He said it should be relatively _easy_ to ignore!”

Tucker ignored his pointed tone and just cackled as he rolled to his feet. “Hey, man, when you gotta, you gotta,” he said with a wink. Then, because he never claimed to be a nice person, he stretched his arms high above his head and enjoyed seeing Wash struggle between stomping away and staying to chew him out.

He stayed, of course, eyes scanning the seemingly empty hallways as he berated Tucker. In retaliation, Tucker moved unhurriedly through pulling on his bodysuit and boots, and reattaching various pieces of armor.

Following Wash back to the rest of the group, Tucker considered keeping an eye out of the telltale shimmer of Locus’ invisibility unit but shrugged off the impulse. If he stuck around then he stuck around, and if he didn't then he didn't. Either way, Tucker was pretty sure they'd run into each other again, eventually.

Dude _was_ a goddamn stalker, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's some of my thoughts while writing this, if you're interested: http://thefreelancerdivision.tumblr.com/post/158142693162/there-were-a-lot-of-things-tucker-expected-to
> 
> Additionally, this may or may not become a whole 'verse, depending on the reaction to this as well as how bad my anxiety gets. Suppose we'll just see.
> 
> EDIT: Twelve different people stopped by to leave lovely messages that made my day aND YET NONE OF YOU MENTIONED THE WEIRD FUCKUP WITH THE ITALICS?? NOT TO MENTION THE SINGLE, FREE-FLOATING PARENTHESIS??? That's it, all'a'y'all go to your rooms, you're grounded until I say otherwise. AND I'll be speaking to your father-figure when they get home!


End file.
